


Gold Rush Chapter 6 SAFE VERSION (without nsfw images)

by ShirleyCarlton



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 13:04:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3069035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is a 'safe' version of chapter 6 of my fic <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2706491">Gold Rush</a>, meaning that this version does not contain the nsfw illustrations that the original does in that chapter. I thought some people, who might be reading this in a public place, would appreciate there being an illustrationless version. :)</p>
    </blockquote>





	Gold Rush Chapter 6 SAFE VERSION (without nsfw images)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a 'safe' version of chapter 6 of my fic [Gold Rush](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2706491), meaning that this version does not contain the nsfw illustrations that the original does in that chapter. I thought some people, who might be reading this in a public place, would appreciate there being an illustrationless version. :)

The first thing John did after their weekend in heaven was have himself tested. It had been a completely stupid and irresponsible thing not to use a condom when he’d given head, since he was perfectly aware that both herpes and gonorrhoea could easily be passed from mouth to genitals. He was a goddamn _doctor_ , for fuck’s sake, and he would not readily forgive himself for putting Sherlock’s health at risk. At least he finally understood the spur-of-the-moment thing.

God, it had been amazing.

John had always wondered what it would be like to give a blowjob – although not in the sense that he’d ever actually _wanted_ to before. It was just one of those things that he’d sometimes asked himself while undergoing it: what it would feel like to be the active participant.

And well, now he knew.

It had felt extremely liberating, somehow.

He’d had the extraordinary sensation of knowing almost exactly what to do, without the usual apprehension of perhaps getting it wrong, as he had often experienced during sex with women. And then Sherlock had managed to, well... press some buttons in one of his hitherto undiscovered erogenous zones, actually making John consider things he had never been keen on thinking about before – which oddly had been kind of freeing as well in its own way.

All he could do was hope that this David bastard with whom Mary had cheated on him – obviously unprotected as she had managed to get pregnant – wasn’t the type to collect body fluid contagions from across London. Anyway, he would soon find out.  
(Why he had been stupid enough not to have himself tested as soon as he’d found out the baby was not his, was beyond him. To be fair however, he _had_ had a lot on his mind at that moment.)

While he had the most wonderful memories of their first night together, he did frequently think back in bewilderment about Sherlock’s initial suggestion to actually shag, and John was still rather puzzled as to why Sherlock had insisted when he was so obviously uncomfortable about it. But in the end they’d had amazing sex anyway without penetration, and ever since, John felt as if he was floating a foot above the ground.

He was Sherlock’s now.

Sherlock was his.

John had never felt so possessive of someone before. But maybe it was because of having seen Sherlock, who was always so very composed in this respect, become completely undone beneath him (and above him, alongside him; frankly in every thinkable position it was technically possible to give a hand- or blowjob in): it was simply the most exquisite thing in the world to see this genius being reduced to incoherent moans and whimpers, surrendering himself completely to John.  
And of course it took a bloody genius like Sherlock to learn how to give the most amazing frigging blowjobs John had ever had, within _days_ of giving his first.

If John had been unsure about the whole sex-with-Sherlock thing, he had been wrong. It was without any doubt whatsoever the best sex ever. Who needed tits or pussy when you had, well... _Sherlock_. (Not to mention Sherlock’s _mouth_.)

John especially loved how sometimes, out of the blue and without saying a word, Sherlock would fix him with his intense gaze from across the room, stroll over and start kissing John’s neck, groping his back – his hands all over him – as if making up for all those years of distance between them.

Sherlock was in fact much needier than John had ever expected, and much more physical as well – once he’d gotten past his initial inhibitions. His advances sometimes practically bordered on sluttish behaviour, which made John smile inwardly. (He definitely wasn’t complaining.)  
One of the things was that Sherlock seemed to have no shame. John had always known that, of course, but it had acquired a whole new dimension with the changed nature of their relationship. Sherlock would simply drop to his knees in front of John in the middle of the kitchen or living room and unfasten John’s trousers, regardless of whether the curtains were open or closed. Thank god the flat wasn’t on the ground floor.

John had never felt so _wanted_ in his life.

To John’s surprise, Sherlock even turned out to be a tiny bit prone to sentiment. For instance, when they would kiss, he would sometimes take the chain with dog tags from around John’s neck and pull it over their heads until it was around his own neck. He did this especially when John was a bit gloomy, mulling over his army days – as if he wanted to take away John’s burden.

And it helped, God, it really did. John hadn’t known he was so susceptible to these kinds of affectionate gestures himself.

And while he had never been one for cuddling and fluff, he found that with Sherlock, what he loved possibly as much as the sex, was just lazily lying entangled on the sofa together, studying the hairs on the other’s neck or the curves of the other’s auricle, or simply feeling each other’s warmth and listening to each other’s breathing. Just being _together_.

One spring afternoon, two weeks into their relationship, when John had had an early shift, they were doing just that when they heard a brusque knock on the door. Since Sherlock had instructed Mrs Hudson not to let in any clients, with this narrowed-down choice it was quite easy even for John to deduce it must be Lestrade.  
Sherlock and John looked at each other, and instantly both knew there was no reason to quickly sit up and pretend they hadn’t been snuggling. They yelled ‘yes!’ before unhurriedly starting to disentangle their limbs.  
This approach would at least save them the trouble of having to _tell_ him.

The look on Greg’s face in the doorway as John was appearing from below Sherlock on the sofa was rather priceless. His open-mouthed shock, however, quickly morphed into the widest smile they’d ever seen on his face and they couldn’t help but grin sheepishly back at him.

“Finally!” Lestrade exclaimed, eyes wide. “After _years_ of exchanging smouldering looks, they _finally_ bloody got together!” And then, slightly exasperated, “To be honest, I’d almost given up hope of ever seeing the bloody day, I gotta tell you.”

The horrible realisation then dawned on John that all the people who had been ‘talking’ all this time would now righteously gloat about having been right from the beginning. But then again, it was a small price to pay for what they had now. On top of which, it was actually quite funny, in spite of the bitter edge of irony that everybody had seen what they had both failed to acknowledge all those years.

John smiled in spite of himself, and for one ridiculous moment, Greg seemed about to shake their hands to congratulate them; then, realising this would probably be a bit of an odd thing to do, he settled for shaking just his own head in disbelief, barely able to contain his joy.  
Greg then turned to Sherlock, who was now sitting up respectably on the sofa next to John, and he frowned, incredulous. “Wait, are you _really_ Sherlock Holmes, because in all honesty, you don’t look anything like him!” Then at John, “Are you _sure_ this is not some lost cousin? This man is positively _beaming_ in a way that practically gives off light!”

Lestrade’s reaction was slowly threatening to become even more embarrassing than Mrs Hudson’s, who had been harassing them with her smiles and winks and extra food ever since she had caught them kissing in the hallway.

But despite all the awkwardness, John only had to look at Sherlock to see that Greg was right. He was radiant and John probably looked similar himself – although seeing him like that was probably less of a shock to outsiders.

For the following few moments, Greg just stood there gaping at the two of them, seeming to have completely forgotten why he had come to Baker Street in the first place.

This was all rather amusing.

“Would you perhaps like some tea, mate?” John asked, putting both hands on his knees to get up.

“Oh, yeah, great, that would be lovely, thanks,” Greg replied, a little dreamily.

As John walked over to the kitchen, he could exactly picture the averted looks in the silence that stretched out between the two detectives and he had to suppress a snigger.

When he came back with three filled teacups, Greg cleared his throat. “Well, er, now that I’ve gotten over the initial shock of this unexpected development – well, I say ‘unexpected’ but as I said, we were all really past hope, to be more accurate...” He quickly swallowed away another grin that threatened to take over his face again. “Anyway – I’ve remembered what I came here for.”  
He took a few sips of his tea. “Since I happened to be in the neighbourhood, I thought I’d do a young lady a favour. There is this girl in my yoga class--”

“Yoga class?” The look on Sherlock’s face was a precious mix of abhorrence and amusement.

“Yeah, works wonders against stress, you know,” Greg said, with only the slightest hint of defiance. “Anyway, she’s been pestering me for days, ever since she found out I knew you, asking me to get this message to you. Apparently, Mrs Hudson wouldn’t let her in and you weren’t answering your phone.” One corner of his mouth quirked up as he added, conspiratorially, “I now see why.”

Something of a worried frown appeared on Sherlock’s face. John could see him mentally heading off in completely the wrong direction in his effort to deduce what Violet wanted to tell him, and smiled.

“But she was adamant about this,” Greg continued, between sips of tea. “She wanted to thank you. She said, quote, ‘her life was now perfect and she was even back in touch with her uncle’. Whatever that means; I’m sure you’ll know.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows had shot up and a faint smile started to play around his lips as he stared blankly ahead.

John couldn’t tear his gaze away from his lover. The brilliant git’s plan had worked perfectly from beginning to end.

Lestrade finished his teacup and heaved a sigh. “Well, that’s my duty done for the day. Not much else on at the moment, I’m afraid.”  
As he got up, it became clear that the yoga exercises hadn’t been agreeing with him altogether.  
“I’ll just leave you to it then.” He briefly shot them a cheeky glance, then disappeared through the door.

* * * * *

That evening, after an early supper, as Sherlock was putting the leftovers in the fridge, John walked up to him and hugged him from behind. “I think _someone_ deserves some special attention tonight,” he said quietly into Sherlock’s ear.

“You think so?” Sherlock raised an amused eyebrow at the man behind him, as he shut the fridge door. “And what did I do yesterday, or the day before, or the day before that, to deserve all the _special attention_ I received then, I wonder?” he teased.

“Just being your usual brilliant self, I suppose,” John said, trying to make it sound casual, as he gently turned Sherlock around to face him.

They briefly pressed their lips together.

“And by the way,” John whispered, “in case you feel like reciprocating, you no longer need to use a condom on me. I just got an e-mail with the lab results.”

Sherlock hummed appreciatively.

Should he apologise for having put Sherlock at risk all this time regardless? After the first time, it hadn’t really seemed to matter anymore. At least John had warned Sherlock to use a condom on _him_ , to eliminate the risk of the rest of the plethora of possible diseases spreading.

But maybe some things were better left unsaid. They had gotten off scot-free anyway.

Sherlock started switching off the lights and headed for the bedroom. John put the plates in the sink and followed.

While they slowly undressed each other, Sherlock purred seductively into John’s neck, “Although I can’t wait to taste and feel you for real, I want to do something else first.” He threw John’s last piece of clothing onto a chair and ran his hands playfully over John’s bare chest. “I’ve been practising, John. Do you want to see?” He suddenly seemed to have turned into a flirtatious teenager, slightly shy and proud at the same time. “I’ve been wanting to show you,” he added in a barely audible whisper.

John frowned. “Practising... what?”

“Penetration,” Sherlock replied, managing to actually make it sound sexy.

John widened his eyes, not fully comprehending. His frown stayed put.

“With the dildo,” Sherlock whispered into his ear, clarifying, as he gently pulled John towards the bed. He tumbled backwards onto the mattress, taking John with him, at which both let out a giggly grunt. “So, do you want to see?”

John scrambled off of Sherlock. “Sherlock, are you sure this is--?”

Sherlock sat up to silence him with a kiss.  
“I want this,” he assured him.

“Alright.” John swallowed, not sure what to think. He watched as Sherlock took a tube of lubricant from inside the bedside table and smeared some of it onto his fingers. After stuffing a cushion under his bum with his other hand, Sherlock pulled up his knees, letting his legs fall open, and just like that, started circling his arse with his wet middle finger.

John’s breath caught in his throat. The sight of this was... intoxicating.  
The lube glistened in the faint light of the bedside lamp as Sherlock switched to counter-clockwise circles and back – obviously enjoying the sensation, seeing as his eyes were sensually half-closed and his breathing was becoming increasingly heavy.  
When Sherlock slowly pushed his finger inside, John had to make an effort not to gasp.

Their eyes met for a brief moment, and John quickly mirrored Sherlock’s ‘It’s Christmas’ expression.

Strange things were happening in John’s stomach when Sherlock started to finger himself in earnest. Sherlock was so uncommonly beautiful, lying there on his back with his gorgeous long legs spread wide and this one incredible finger elegantly moving in and out of him while subtle noises of satisfaction escaped his throat.

John wasn’t certain he was entirely fit to merely be an objective observer here. “Can I... touch your cock?” he asked breathlessly.

“By all means,” Sherlock panted with a slight smirk.

John carefully kneeled between Sherlock’s legs and started showering his cock with attention in the form of gentle strokes and kisses. Soon, Sherlock slipped in a second finger. Truth be told, John was having a hard time concentrating on what he was doing with what was happening just below him. And frustrating as it was, he couldn’t tell if Sherlock’s soft moans were because of _him_ or because of Sherlock’s own fingers.

In the following minutes, Sherlock’s face was becoming more and more flushed, he repeatedly licked his lips and incredibly kept tilting his hips as if trying to reach even deeper.

John was becoming rather desperate for some stimulation himself, but this was not about him; so he resolved to simply put his own needs on hold for now.

After a while, Sherlock withdrew his hand to lube up the dildo.

John sat back to give him some space and watched with restrained heavy breathing as Sherlock positioned the dildo and started to slowly push it inside.

Every few seconds, Sherlock stopped, sometimes pulling out a little, then pushing back in.

John was barely holding it together by this point and in his head started compulsively reciting the only Shakespeare sonnet he knew (once learnt by heart for some silly contest in his uni days); anything to keep his vital functions within normal parameters.  
He’d never been that fixated on penetration, but for some reason, seeing what Sherlock was doing with that piece of silicone was embarrassingly arousing.

Sherlock lifted his head to look at John for a moment and bit his lip in a radiant smile, before dropping his head back on the pillow with a thud.

John smiled back, still somewhat incredulous, and remained still as a statue, afraid to break the spell.

Sherlock suddenly seemed an entirely different person, the way he was lying there, taking in the black dildo: unafraid to show himself, to be vulnerable. At the same time, there was something coy and almost girlish about him that made John want to devour him on the spot.

Next, Sherlock let the sex toy slide all the way out, only to push it back in again. Slowly, but impressively deep.

John pressed his lips together, trying hard not to overly display his arousal. This could be him. This could be him, sliding in and out of Sherlock.

Just then, Sherlock’s voice broke the silence. “I think I’m done practising, John,” he breathed, decidedly flirtatious now. “Would you like to have a go?”

John forgot to breathe for a few moments and looked at Sherlock with what he hoped was not too much eagerness.  
“Are you sure?” he rasped.

“Yes.”

There was something desperate about Sherlock, something John had never seen in him before. Almost pleading, submissive. And it was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Are you really sure?”

“Yes, I told you. Now would you or wouldn’t you?”

John’s cock had become almost painfully hard and was awkwardly leaking precum. He had a hard time keeping his voice steady as he replied, “Oh, Jesus, Sherlock, do you even have to ask?”

He wanted to kiss Sherlock, hold him, tell him he loved him – but he just sat there stupidly on his knees, frozen, his whole body as stiff as his prick.

Sherlock pressed his lips together in a smile. He put away the dildo and took the lube, applying an ample amount to John’s length, meanwhile stroking away some of his tension.

John let his head fall back, looking at the ceiling for guidance – as if to be reminded which side of the world was up and which was down – and took a couple of deep breaths.

When Sherlock was done, he gestured for John to sit between his legs again.

John’s heart was hammering in his chest as if it were trying to break free. As much as he wanted this, it scared the shit out of him all the same. He so badly wanted to get this right.  
He looked at Sherlock with an earnest frown. “Promise to tell me if it hurts, or if you just want me out, okay? Just tell me.”

Sherlock nodded. “I’ll be fine.”

“Promise,” John insisted firmly.

Sherlock seemed about to roll his eyes, but his expression halted in mild confusion.

“Listen,” John said flatly, “I won’t be able to enjoy this if I’m not absolutely sure that it’s not hurting you and the only way to be certain is if you promise to _tell_ me if it does.”

There was a short silence during which Sherlock looked at him with the most sincere and open expression John had ever seen on his face.  
“Okay, I promise.”

John leaned down to seal the promise with a kiss, gently caressing Sherlock’s tongue with his own in a swirling movement. A wonderful giddiness surged from deep within John’s insides, swelling throughout his body, as it hit him he was only moments away from being _inside_ Sherlock’s body. He still couldn’t believe that Sherlock was letting him do this. John was very well aware that it could potentially be extremely painful if Sherlock wasn’t completely relaxed.

With their mouths still pressed together, Sherlock pulled up his knees towards his shoulders and wrapped his legs around John’s back, provoking a feeling of wondrous inevitability. Then he tentatively reached between them to take John’s cock in one hand and guide it to his arse. First, he wriggled John’s glans around a bit between his arse cheeks, at which John couldn’t help but let out a blissful moan. When Sherlock stopped moving and held John securely in one place, coaxing him to start pushing in, John carefully did so – as slowly as he could muster. He let out a stifled noise through his nose as he felt Sherlock’s arse hole gradually open around him.

“Oh god, Sherlock…” John’s breath hitched with every syllable.

Then he noticed Sherlock was holding his breath.  
“You okay?”

“Yes. This. Is. Amazing,” Sherlock stammered.  
Although he looked apprehensive, there was no trace of discomfort in his expression. It was more like awe.

John very slowly pushed in a bit more, then stopped again, until Sherlock nodded that it was okay to go deeper. Once he was past the first sphincter, he slid in so easily it made him blink.

John was sure he was in heaven: to see Sherlock beneath him, limp with abandon and preciously smiling with his eyes shut, his legs resting on John’s back, as John’s cock slowly sank into that beautiful, lean body. John was practically gasping for air. And when Sherlock briefly opened his eyes and looked up at him as if John were the only thing that would ever matter to him in the world, John thought he might cry for joy. The intimacy of it all was mind-blowing.

He gently pressed a soft kiss to Sherlock’s lips.  
“Is this still okay?” he whispered.

“Unequivocally, yeah.”

They drowned in each other’s gaze for a while, amazed at what they were doing.

When he was all the way inside, John started pulling out and pushing back in very carefully, closely monitoring every response from Sherlock, still afraid to hurt him or do something wrong. At the same time, the feeling of Sherlock’s tightness was so wonderful and overwhelming that he was afraid to lose control. But he ardently wanted this to be perfect for Sherlock. He wanted to do everything necessary to make Sherlock never want to leave him.

Sherlock gave a relieved huff, looking at John with an eager expression, as if he had just conducted an especially successful experiment. Who knew, maybe that was what this was to him. At least this was the kind of adventurousness John would not soon complain about.

John deliberately kept moving in a gentle slow-motion, taking his time to plant kisses wherever he could reach; making love to Sherlock as he never had to anyone before.

“Christ, Sherlock, you are the best thing that ever happened to me,” he whispered urgently. “And that was before tonight. Now... you’re just off the scale. Oh _God_.”

Sherlock writhed in the sheets like a content cat, wallowing in the compliment.

Once they had found a comfortable routine, John subtly tried to shift the angle so as to aim for Sherlock’s prostate. It took a while before he found the exact right position, but when he succeeded, he knew it. Sherlock let out a sudden whine, the most beautiful sound in the world, followed by a bellowing “God, John, yes!” He was soon begging John to never stop, and although John was positively beaming with pride and pleasure, he was pretty sure he was going to disappoint Sherlock very soon in that respect. He was not going to last much longer.

It took every ounce of effort in his bones to control his thrusts, not to go too deep and too fast. With all his might, he focused on making slow, fluid motions.

“God, we definitely have to try this the other way round some day,” John panted. “This feels so amazing. I want you to feel this, too.” He meant it.

“Same here,” Sherlock breathed, eyes wide. Then he grabbed John’s bottom and pulled him even deeper inside, his fingers digging almost painfully into John’s flesh.  
“Oh John...” he groaned breathlessly.

John tried to get hold of Sherlock’s cock to stroke him, but that turned out to be altogether a bit too ambitious: to his own frustration he couldn’t maintain the same angle and rhythm while leaning only on one arm. And he was close now, so very close. He could already feel the beginnings of a dizzying whirl gradually building up inside, until it suddenly over-flowed his being and erased everything around him, annihilating along with it any reluctance to cry out an elaborate string of primordial syllables that meant nothing and everything at the same time.

His shoulders were heaving as his movements slowly stuttered to a halt, a wonderful emptiness stretching out inside him with room for just one thought: _Sherlock_.

When he opened his eyes, Sherlock was looking at him with a curious expression, as if he was cataloguing new data. John didn’t care; he’d just had one of the best bloody orgasms of his life.  
He bonelessly collapsed on top of Sherlock, resting his forehead on Sherlock’s shoulder as he tried to wrap his mind around what they had just done and how utterly glorious it had been.

John concluded that no one could ever be happier than this. No one.  
He half lifted himself to look at Sherlock.

“Don’t get out yet.” Sherlock wriggled his hand between them. “I want to come with you inside me.”

Sherlock needed surprisingly few strokes before his semen spurted against John’s chest. John had seen him come quite a number of times by now, but nothing like this before. The intensity with which he knitted his brows together, wrinkling his forehead and grunting out John’s name, sent a beautiful chill down John’s spine. (Making John awkwardly slip out of him in the process.)

Sherlock had truly wanted this, _needed_ this, and John felt silly for having been afraid to do it.  
Now that they had, it had definitely added a new layer to their relationship. John felt sure he wouldn’t see Sherlock the same way after tonight and his feelings for him had impossibly intensified because of it.

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, John pressed a soft kiss to his jaw.  
“Wow, we actually did it,” he whispered.

Sherlock let out an uncharacteristic but genuine giggle and there was a kind of relief in his eyes that John couldn’t quite place.

John carefully shifted off of Sherlock, lying down on his side, while deliberately remaining pressed close to his lover.

As John put his arm around him, still dazzled at what had just happened, he was suddenly overcome by a fierce feeling of protectiveness, and he held Sherlock with the same reverence and tenderness he would a rare butterfly, unable to take his eyes off him.

Sherlock’s capacity to astonish had just reached a whole new level.

John never let go of Sherlock for one second that night.

* * * * *

John couldn’t remember the last time he had slept this soundly.

When he woke up the next morning, his arm still on Sherlock’s chest, he gratefully drank in the sight of Sherlock peacefully sleeping a hair’s breadth away from him. He smiled at the thought that he would likely not soon get used to this kind of view. Then he closed his eyes again, not wanting to wake Sherlock just yet.

He sleepily thought back to the previous night and the way Sherlock had looked up at him with delighted serenity and hooded eyes, just before John had emptied himself into him.

Within seconds, his cock was hard again, eager to repeat the exercise.  
John hugged Sherlock a fraction tighter, desperately trying not to grind into his thigh. He only wriggled his hips a bit to accommodate his erection, but it woke Sherlock up all the same.

“Morning, handsome,” John whispered.

Sleepy smiles.

They languidly nuzzled each other’s necks, hands sliding under T-shirts, and mouths finding yet new spots to plant kisses.

Sherlock ended up sprawled on top of John, and then paused.  
“John, is this... will it always be like this?”

“I certainly hope so,” John smiled.

Sherlock stilled, looking at John with an uncertain expression. “So this is not just a fling, or – I don’t know – some phase we’re going through? Or an experiment? Which will end as soon as the novelty has worn off?”

“Well, this most definitely isn’t just an experiment to me,” John reassured. He stroked Sherlock’s back, secretly pleased that he was worried about this. Thankfully, they were on the same page. “And we’ve known each other for quite a while, so I’m pretty sure neither of us has any surprise secrets in store that could change anything.”

Sherlock smiled faintly, blinking repeatedly. “So you think that there actually is a chance,” he said, hesitantly, “that when we’re old and wrinkly,” – he briefly made a face at the idea of ever reaching this state – “we’ll still be together, like this, as a couple, I mean?”

“I think we very well might. And I definitely very much hope so.” John was smiling calmly, while inwardly, he was screaming ‘Oh, god yes, please be mine forever’.

“Won’t you get fed up with me?”

“I already am. But I’m still here,” he grinned, leaning in for a short kiss. “I have no intention of ever ceasing to be what I am to you now,” John added. “Unless, perhaps, we would decide one day to change our status from boyfriends to husbands.” He swallowed. That had actually been a rather ridiculous thing to say at this point. It had been meant as a joke, really, but it had come out much more seriously. Because deep down, he _was_ serious.

Sherlock stared long and hard at John, his eyes suddenly very shiny. He cleared his throat. “John, I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

There was a silence that John wasn’t quite sure what to make of. Just as he was starting to get worried, Sherlock whispered, “I love you too.”

John felt something inside him break that started to spread a wonderful warmth throughout his being.  
“In that case,” he said, as casually as he could manage, “how about lugging some boxes tomorrow and help me move back in here with you?”

\- - fin - -

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to everybody who read this story and left kudos or comments. They brightened my holidays. :)  
>   
> I'm actually thinking about writing a sequel in which all the little loose ends that were not resolved in this story (as they often aren't in real life, which is why I decided to write them like this in the first place) will be wrapped up at least a bit more after all. :) Click subscribe on [my AO3 profile page](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ShirleyCarlton/pseuds/ShirleyCarlton) (in the upper right corner) if you want to get an alert when I do!
> 
> EDIT August 2016: Yes, I wrote a sequel! I've added the new chapters to the same work, so you can click [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/2706491/chapters/16277699) to continue reading from chapter 7. (I've decided not to post chapters without nsfw images separately anymore, as I've received very few kudos on these two... sorry! So I advise you to scroll very carefully. ;D)


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